Because big shots meet up here.

What I'm going to do/have done! (Section)

Same as yesterday. Which sucks. But I do think this chapter is pretty solid.

Things I wrote just for you (And the others here as well!...Section.)

As me and Ms.Care walked down the school's hallways I couldn't help but follow with my head looking back more than forward. Part of the reason was that the school felt...different at night. Like it was constantly growling.

But uh...to be frank. The main reason was that Susan's teacher was emitting an amazingly intense pressure...in a terrifying way.

It was like...standing near a furnace. The furnace isn't trying to heat you or burn your fingers or anything like that. No, the furnace does it just by existing.

In that same way, Ms.Care was telling me how fucked I was. And to her credit, she did it in a myriad of methods for me to understand. There were the obvious two to three-word responses to all my dad jokes. The less but still catchable hiss of her shoes, which uh, don't ask me HOW she does that.

And of course, there were the dozen other things I had no clue of but was sure she was doing. Like...well something!

Really, it was incredible...and awful for my anxiety.

So by the time Ms.Care and I reached her classroom the mood was appropriately set in a 'You're so fucked.' sorta vibe.

Not ideal. So I did what any self-respecting father would do.

Mr.Strongheart: "Nice classroom. It's really classy."

Dad-jokes. I mean, if she doesn't find this ironically unironically funny then is there any hope for common ground to begin with?...Probably.

Ms.Care: "It serves its purpose I suppose."

Wow. 6-words! That's an improvement, My plans working!

So as Ms.Care takes her seat behind her teacher's table, my mind races for my next hit dad joke.

One so corny that the mood will flip from 'You're fucked.' to 'Ha, your funny! Now let's talk about your daughter's mild school issues!'

...That kinda joke exists, right?

Ms.Care: "Now, Mr.Strongheart. I regret to inform you that-"

Mr.Strongheart: "No need to worry Ms.Care, I have a Strongheart."

Now, what I hoped would happen was Ms.Care would roll her eyes and continue her explanation with less...sharpness in her words.

Instead, she glared at me like I was a cockroach on her son's head.

Oh, dear.

Ms.Care: "I...I must say I'm not fond of how you're presenting yourself Mr.Strongheart. This is NOT a situation to take lightly. After all, It is your own daughter's education at stake. And so, I'd urge you to take this seriously."

Mr.Strongheart: "Uh um yeah I-"

I grasped for something clever to say, realized that was the reason I was in this mess, and settled for raw honesty.

Mr.Strongheart: "I'm daughter brain-rotted."

Ms.Care: "e-Excuse me?"

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Mr.Strongheart: "a-Ah you know when like...your kid says 'You have internet-brain rot." when gunning someone in fartnite?"

Ms.Care's gaze sharpened.

Ms.Care: "No, I don't allow my child-free internet access-" She noticed my raised brow and added on "It's a very dangerous place! Kids could be hurt in all sorts of ways! And even with parental guidelines, it's unfiltered and full of crooks!"

That...is an opinion.

Ms.Care: "...Is that what's happening? Is Susan-"

And Ms.Care was ready to shove it down my throat.

Mr.Strongheart: "No no no! We don't have a computer! She just uses one time to time in the library to study."

And to research cool recipes for us to make...and to watch a nature documentary or two...and to look up funny videos-

Oh shit, that was definitely a lie. Fuck. How do I un-lie? I guess I'll just need to-

Ms.Care: "Well...good. What do you mean then by 'Daughter's brain rot'?"

I bit my lips, cursed god under my breath, and prepared for how awkward this was going to be.

Mr.Strongheart: "Uhm actually I misspoke a bit. I mean, she does study on the computer but we occasionally do stuff together on it also. I supervise though so like I think it's safe and...uhm, Ah! This is what I mean!"

It is?

Ms.Care: "It is?"

Mr.Strongheart: "Yeah! I mean, when your brain-rot at something you do it a lot compared to other stuff. So I'm really brain-rot at talking with my daughter. So I jump to stuff like Dad jokes to calm her down. And I've been around her so much and haven't-"

I paused.

Hi, brain, is it worrying to say that outside of your mom, you haven't talked to another adult in 2 months?

Yes, that's very worrying.

Ok but like...will it make them think I'm...unsuited to raise my child?

...Maybe?

Oh, okay thanks. I'll lie then.

Mr.Strongheart: "talked to adults as much. So uh... it's kinda instinctive to...well ya know make these dumb jokes. So what I've been trying to say is that I didn't mean to insult you or take the situation less seriously. It's just u-uh a habit that didn't fit this social situation. g-Got it?"

God, being responsible is so fucking awkward.

Despite me crashing and stumbling in every way conceivable Ms.Care's...well, I'm not sure exactly what changed. But it felt like the blazing heat of the furnace had cooled into a gentle simmering. Or at the very least, I was moved farther away from the fire.

She sighed, then re-adjusted one of the pencils that had rolled away. OCD?

Ms.Care: "Well, I'm glad you're willing to communicate. I was...frankly expecting another type of man."

I tried not to smile too hard.

Sadly, I'm not good at that.

Mr.Strongheart: "I'm many things Ms.Care, another type of man isn't one of them."

She rolled her eyes! Huurah! The murder vibe is dead! Pun intended!

Ahh, what is this feeling? It's like I'm 18 again...with no debt, no worries, and no heavy weight in my chest.

I feel so...free.

I leaned back in my chair, maybe enjoying the perks of being responsible a bit too much.

As Ms.Care was quick to bring my spirits back to its old and tired bones.

Ms.Care: "But, to be blunt Mr.Strongheart, that only makes me worry more so for your daughter's...situation."

Huh?

Mr.Strongheart: "And what do you mean by that?"

Ms.Care reorganized the pencils on her desk...while keeping eye contact with me and talking. Kinda impressive.

Ms.Care: "Well, if it was a family matter then it be easy to spot and well...know if progress can or can't be made."

Mr.Strongheart: "...Be blunt with me. What's my daughter's issue?"

The moment I said this, Ms.Care finished re-organizing her pencils. And that combination of directness and aimlessness seemed to tie her tongue and make her hands fidgety.

Her eyes stumbled to the pencils, then zipped back to me as if someone had shouted at her too. It was maybe the closest I'd gotten to seeing Ms.Care properly. And as our eyes met, I couldn't help but feel a bit sad for her.

After all, everyone knows what happened to her husband.

I guess that's why I smiled. To combat our little sadness with a little happiness.

She looked away, then looked back at me with a steadiness that was too quick to be real, yet all the more amazing for how convincing it was.

Ms.Care: "The problem Mr.Strongheart is that your daughter has a horrid temper. Not only to me, but her classmates. I worry that if this continues, that by the end of the year..."

Ms.Care: "Susan will be expelled."

The final section! (Section.)

DUN DUN DUN. Did that jokes before pretty sure but whatever. NOW BE EXPELLED FROM THIS CHAPTER BECAUSE...it ends. lol.